From An Outside Perspective
by my-identity-is-irrelevant
Summary: Steve was a bully. Eli's voice cracked every other sentence. At Arcadia Oaks High, no one entertained the notion of them being friends. It just seemed too far-fetched. Impossible. Much like the Alien that just threw them onto the dumpsters behind the school. (Trollhunters)
1. Delinquents

Anna and Robert Palchuck were still technically married. After all, It cost a lot more money to get a divorce than it did to get a restraining order. _The restraining order..._

Devin Lawrence hadn't found out about the restraining order until a few weeks ago. That's when he stopped by to surprise Anna only to find her pressed against the kitchen cabinets with a knife to her throat. Devin didn't think he'd been more terrified in his life than when he saw her close her eyes and accept her fate. Terrified for _her_. He didn't think but soon found himself holding a bloody frying pan with the man unconscious at his feet. The knife clattered to the floor. Anna choked back a sob. The telephone operator said that they were on their way.

An hour later, Steve emerged from underneath the bed.

Their wounds were still fresh... in every sense of the word.

While Devin 'Coach' Lawrence truly cared about Anna, in truth, they hadn't been together long, only a few short months. It was far too short of a time for him to move in, but with the threat of Robert Palchuck hanging over his girlfriend's head... he wanted to be there to protect her and her son. So he handed his landlord his key, packed his bag, and moved into the guest room. (It was _definitely_ too early to share a bed.)

It was a strange new dynamic. Very strange. For one, he had to cook for three people now. For another, he was in the delicate situation of acting as a surrogate father for a teen that held extreme distrust for, well, fathers.

The first week was hell for everyone. He had to pull Anna out of three panic attacks and Steve out of five.

Every time Steve spoke to him, he emphasized 'Coach' in his name, just to emphasize how Devin would _never_ be his dad. Devin didn't _want_ to be a dad. He definitely hadn't expected to practically adopt the kid within the span of a week. He had moved in to make sure Robert never came back to hurt his Anna. That was the plan, but every day it became more and more clear that Steve needed a dad.

He tried his best. His offer to 'hug it out' was met by a garbage bag being thrown in his face.

Balancing being the boy's teacher was even harder. He thought he'd done a good job of treating him like a normal student despite their new situation. Of course, when he tried to explain that to Steve he only succeeded in embarrassing him in front of his friends.

The second week was slightly better. The coach noticed a sudden drop in Steve's bullying habits. He wasn't sure how or why that happened, but he silently thanked whatever higher power there was for it. On the drive home from school on Wednesday, they even had a meaningful talk about becoming a better person.

On Thursday night, he had stayed late to talk to a parent about her kids failing grade in Health Class. (No, he did _not_ accept bribes, thank you very much.)

Ushering the woman out of his classroom, the teacher sat down at his desk with a sigh. _Great_. He forgot he still had grading to do. Devin reached for a pen when a light in the window caught his eye.

 _Trespassers_.

He marched up to the window, peering out. All Devin could see was a pair of legs before the gym door swung shut. The motion sensor shut off. Devin picked up the heaviest nearby object, which just so happened to be a book on anatomy, and headed down the halls.

The gym had two entrances, one by the soccer field, and one next to the cafeteria, directly below his classroom. He walked quietly as he could, though he had to admit he wasn't very good at it when he knocked down the Glucose model hanging outside of the Chemistry classroom. One set of stairs later, Devin pressed his hand against the gymnasium's double doors. " _Steve?_ " Devin dropped the book at his side.

A voice yelped above them as another body fell from the ropes, directly onto Steve. They both tumbled to the ground. Steve groaned as the other kid scrambled off him. "Sorry Steve." The voice cracked.

"Wait a minute, _Pepperjack_?" The man's eyes widened in shock.

"Huh?" The boy blindly groped the linoleum floor.

Devin turned to Steve. "Mind explaining what exactly is going on here?"

One long, convoluted explanation later, he still had absolutely no idea what was going on.

Apparently during the health assignment last week the two had become sort of friends. No, partners? They were the "Creepslayerz! With a Z." No, wait, Steve said it was just some geeky TV show they liked. The long of the short of it was that now, for some strange reason, Steve had decided to help Eli with his upper body strength, hence breaking into the school to use the climbing ropes.

Devin was surprised to learn about Steve's newfound friendship with the school geek. He made a mental note to invite the boy over for dinner sometime. Pepperjack had made his life a hell of a lot easier.

He gave them Saturday detention anyway.

 **This story may seem like a bunch of random one-shots, but they're actually all connected and in (mostly) chronological order. Each chapter is written from a different perspective There _is_ an overarching plot, just hang in there.**

 **Also, if anyone has a request for perspectives, please comment below.**


	2. Scapegoat

"... talking back, sneaking out. It's like she became a whole different person as soon as she met that boy." Angela Nuñez finished her rant.

Madeline tapped her clipboard with the pen. "Teens don't have a strong sense of identity. Their friends rub off on them easily."

"I hardly think stealing a car has anything to do with an identity problem." Her client scowled. "I need solutions, not excuses."

To the general public, councilwoman Nuñez was a saint. In truth, she was hardly the kindly persona she portrayed. She was harsh, to the point, and unapologetic. To her higher-ups that meant she got the job done. To her employees, that meant she was hell to work for. The woman may have been Madeline's client, but she considered Madeline one of her employees. Except instead of faxing papers, Madeline was expected to have an immediate solution to all of her personal problems. That wasn't how counseling worked, as she had often tried to explain.

"Have you considered speaking with..." Madeline searched her clipboard "Jim's Lake's mother?"

The expression on the council woman's face was almost identical to Eli's when he rolled his eyes at his dad, and as of late, at her. "And encourage them? I told you, I want nothing to do with that family."

Madeline sighed, she had been expecting that response. "Perhaps…" she trailed off, searching for the right words. One of the most important parts of being a good counselor was being nonjudgemental. That was becoming increasingly more difficult with this woman. "Perhaps the boy is going through something that we do not understand," Madeline suggested. Angela Nunez snorted in disbelief. "It isn't healthy for either you or Claire to place the blame entirely on this Jim boy. Regardless of whether or not stealing the car was Jim's idea, your daughter is still at fault for going along with it. Mrs. Nuñez, I think the best course of action as of right now would be to hold Claire responsible for her own actions."

Angela rubbed her knee. She seemed to be considering it. "Would that get rid of the boy?"

Madeline knew what she wanted to say to the woman. It was evident that Claire cared about this boy. Simply grounding her wouldn't get rid of him, just as getting rid of the boy wouldn't fix her behavior. The teen was already in a rebellious phase, which would continue with or without Jim. What the girl needed was her mother. Claire needed to learn that her actions did not come without consequences. While Madeline knew what she wanted to say to the woman, she also knew that it wouldn't solve the problem. She pursed her lips. It wouldn't be the first time she had lied to a client. "Perhaps."

A few minutes later, Mrs. Nuñez got an 'important call', abruptly ending the session. Madeline thanked the stars for Angela's busy schedule as she locked up the clinic.

"Jim's not a bad guy," Eli said as he climbed into the car.

Madeline turned her ignition. "You were listening to the entire conversation, weren't you?"

"You're the one who decided to drag me there." Eli reminded her, not looking up from his phone.

" _You're_ the one who decided to crash my car into a lamppost" Madeline bit back. It was true. Two weeks ago her son had come home on the back of a Vespa, wearing those blasted shoes Eli _knew_ he wasn't allowed to wear, and sporting a horrible attitude. It was as though he had changed completely overnight. When she found the car, Eli told her a poorly woven tale about Goblins and Gruesomes and Creepers. Madeline didn't buy it. Honestly, how dense did he think she was? "So until you fess up about what _really_ happened, I'm not letting you out of my sight."

Eli put down his phone, glaring at his mother. _Finally,_ Madeline thought, _he stopped that infernal tapping._ "I'm _not_ lying." Eli insisted.

Madeline simply sighed, tapping the steering wheel. She tried not to yell much, but Eli was beginning to test her patience. " _Eli_." she warned.

Eli crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I mean it!"

Madeline's tightened her grip on the steering wheel. "Monsters don't exist Eli."

"Why won't you believe me?" Eli's voice cracked.

"Because monsters don't exist!" Madeline slammed her hand on the steering wheel. Eli flinched. She took a shaky breath. "Eli please, you're really starting to worry me with all this monster talk. If something's going on, I- I need to know. I'm your _mother_."

"I can prove it! If you would just let me go to Steve's, we... we could catch another goblin. There's a whole nest at the museum!" Eli frowned "But then, I think most of them were sucked into the Darklands during the fight at Killahead bri-" Eli stopped abruptly, pointing out the window at the canal. "Or I could convince Blinky to open up Heartstone Troll Market! I bet there are _tons_ of trolls there!"

"That's it, we're going to Dr. Reynolds," Madeline said, pulling the car into the orthopedic parking lot so that she could turn it around.

"The _psychiatrist_?" Eli blanched "Mom, I'm not crazy."

Madeline adjusted her turn signal. "I never said you were."

Eli was in full panic mode. He pulled at his seatbelt frantically, as though it was constricting his breathing. "Then why are you taking me to Dr. Reynolds?" He shouted.

"Because I wouldn't be a good mother if I didn't make sure." Madeline sighed "Either this is a convoluted way to get out of trouble, or you really believe what you're saying. Because if that's the case..." Madeline looked at her baby boy through the rearview mirror, as she turned onto Main Street "you need help I can't give you."

"But it's true Mom! Steve and I are the Creepslayerz! Claire has a shadow staff! Her brother _was_ a changeling, but now he's not anymore. Jim's the Trollhunter! Toby has a troll roommate and a portable-"

"Jim?" Madeline whispered, a creeping suspicion in her stomach. "...Jim _Lake_?"

 **I can't tell you how excited I am for this chapter. Rumors are strange, no one ever really knows the full story. I know that moms can gossip more than kids can sometimes, so I left it open-ended. Sorry about that. Ha ha. No. I'm evil.** **But seriously, Eli seems like the kind of kid who would tell his parents everything. Remember the pixies? His greatest fear is people not believing him. I had to play with that.**

 **For anyone who actually reads author's notes, this chapter is actually incredibly important. This is where the plot starts. I won't give you specifics... but you may want to pay attention.**

 **Lastly, any recommendations for perspectives?**


	3. Manilla Folder

Lauren hated her job. No, that wasn't quite right. Lauren hated _doing_ her job. What she liked was hiding behind a stack of papers and observing the people in the waiting room, listening in on their conversations, learning their secrets. Stamping papers and scheduling appointments? Not so much.

Like the majority of twenty-somethings, she'd expected her degree to guarantee her a nice cushy job somewhere. Instead, she was stuck sorting papers for Mr. Big-stuff. Not that Dr. Reynolds wasn't a nice man, but he gave her the creeps. He always seemed to know more than he let on. She had to watch her words with him, there were some secrets she'd rather not spill.

The bell chimed as a woman and her son entered the private clinic. Hoping to get this over with as soon as possible, she asked the standard question. "Do you have an appointment?"

The woman nodded dully, a protective hand never leaving her son's shoulder. Protective of what? "Yes. Elijah Leslie Pepperjack. Four o clock?"

"Ah," Lauren recognized the voice. The woman had called a couple days ago demanding an appointment. Apparently, she and Dr. Reynolds had been friends in college. At least, that was what the psychiatrist told her when Lauren was rearranging his schedule. Friends, enemies, lovers, Lauren didn't care. That woman had made her stay an hour late with the paperwork. That made her worse than a cranky old mother-in-law in Lauren's book. At least they gave you fudge before they told their son he should have married someone else.

Of course, Lauren could hardly say that out loud if she wanted to keep her job. "Of course. He should be right out."

Pretending to write something down, she peered over to the waiting area. A little girl rocked in the corner, refusing to sit in a chair. She recognized the man with her, a social worker. He came often with different kids. Lauren knew the man well, and she hated toddlers, so she moved onto the only options left.

The woman- Madeline Fischer - and her son were seated in the front of the room. She flipped through a magazine, eyes not registering the words even the slightest bit. She stopped abruptly, glancing to her left as though in realization. There was a seat in between the two, creating an impenetrable wall. Her son made a point of not looking at her, arms crossed in front of his chest. He resembled a toddler, pouting because his mom didn't buy him a lollipop.

Then she met his eyes. She only held his gaze for a fraction of a second before he reached for his backpack on the ground, but she could see the odd combination of anger and hurt. Betrayal.

Lauren could understand the look in his eyes, she could still feel the indignation coursing through her after Dr. Reynolds…

"Eli." Madeline sighed pinching the bridge of her nose. "Why do you have to be so childish?" She gestured to the empty seat.

Eli chose to ignore her, unzipping his backpack.

" _What?_ " Madeline breathed in confusion as pulled something out of his bag. Lauren's eyes widened.

Eli gave a sideways glance to the social worker who was currently offering the girl crayons. "Eli, what are you doing with a horseshoe?"

Lauren's mind was reeling. She remembered the list of instructions that the Boss slipped to her over a month ago. Things to avoid if she wanted to keep her secret.

"Just in case." He answered cryptically.

Lauren bit her lip. This wasn't good. This really wasn't good.

Eli made to stand up. Lauren scrambled out of her chair, a manilla folder still in hand. She rushed out from behind her desk, quickly snapping the folder around the iron horseshoe and effectively wrenching it from his grasp. The boy spun around, looking at her with wide terrified eyes. She took a deep, shaky breath. How to explain this?

The boy reached for the horseshoe, enclosed within the folder. Papers flew out as she quickly brought it up above her head. The mother stood up. She didn't speak, but her eyes demanded an explanation. Lauren quickly opened her mouth, words tumbling out.

"S-sorry ma'am. It's just that it's a trigger for… well, I mean it _could_ be a trigger." She closed her eyes, composing herself. "What I mean to say is that we get many people with many forms of trauma here. You never know what could be a trigger. Especially for the little ones." She gestured to the little girl scribbling in the corner, faking sympathy. "You can never be too careful."

Madeline nodded in understanding. "Of course, I'm sorry for causing a scene. Honestly, I have no idea what he was doing with that in the first place." That last part was directed at Eli. "What could he possibly want with a horseshoe?"

Lauren closed her fingers tighter around the folder, the only thing separating her from the Gaggletack. "Yeah." She faked a laugh, ignoring the heavy stones that had settled in the pit of her stomach. "What could he possibly do with it?"

 **I'm kind of hating Madeline right now, but if I told my mom that my town was overrun by trolls, she'd probably take me to a psychiatrist too. Psychiatry costs a lot, and the fact that she isn't just ignoring the problem says quite a bit. It's actually a truly caring thing she's doing. She's in the wrong of course, but she's doing the best with the resources and knowledge she has.**

 **By Deya's Grace, I loved writing this. Lauren is definitely not what she seems.**

 **And you lot have absolutely _no idea_.**


	4. Please Read

**In 24 hours, I will be changing the title of _Welcome to Arcadia_**

 **It can now be found under the title _From An Outside Perspective_**

 **To compensate for any confusion this might cause, I will be posting a chapter ahead of schedule.**


	5. Phone Call

_Brriiing. Brriiing._

Anna rolled onto her side, reaching for her phone with a lazy hand. She swiped to the left, lifting it to her ear.

"Hullo?" she yawned.

"Er, sorry." A voice scrambled. "Were you sleeping?"

If she were fully awake, she would have explained that her shift ended at six, so she'd decided to take a quick nap before classes at eight. Instead, she simply mumbled "Night classes."

"Uh, right." The confusion was clear in the person's voice. "Sorry to bother you, is Steve home?"

Anna rubbed her eyes. "Sorry, who is this?"

"William Pepperjack. I'm Eli's dad."

"Never hear of an Eli- wait. Real short, glasses?"

"Yeah, that's him!"

Anna nodded mutely. "Yeah, he and my son watch some" Yawn. "geeky show together. Creepslayerz?"

"So you are Steve's mom then? I was worried I might have the wrong number."

Anna sat up, glancing to the left. Her bedside table was bathed in red light, neon lights proudly announcing the time. 7:43. Crap.

"I can't find Eli, I was wondering if he was at your place."

How did he get her number? Oh well, Anna was too tired to care.

The voice continued, "You know, since they've recently become friends, and I can't think of anyone else because, well, Eli doesn't really _have_ any friends. I'm worried about him, so could you maybe ask Steve-"

If Anna had been fully awake, she would have been able to comprehend the severity of what was happening. Or perhaps not. After all, who in their right minds would believe the impossible things that were about to happen to the unlikely duo? As it was, Anna had worked finished writing her essay at five am that morning, and her shift ran from eight to six. "Look," she spoke into the phone. "I really have to go. I'll call you back later."

So Anna hung up, too tired to notice the roar of a Vespa in her driveway.


	6. Smoke Alarm

The first two years of Madeline Pepperjack (Previously Madeline Fischer) and William Pepperjack's marriage were, by all regards, incredibly annoying. The young couple had never moved past the honeymoon stage, it was beginning to irk the neighbors. True, it gave the elderly couple next door faith in the next generation, but it quickly became argument fuel for the rest of them. " _Maddie and Will_ don't fight," they said, "I'm sure _Will_ would change little Timmy's diapers." It was true, the couple hadn't had a single big fight until they brought Elijah Leslie Pepperjack home from the hospital.

Madeline had wanted to name the boy after her grandmother who had come to America as an infant to during the start of WWI. Madeline had just gotten her degree in phycology at the time. "It's detrimental to a child's emotional health," she had argued "to be exposed to girl and boy stereotypes at an early age. Leslie is a fine name."

Will, a practical man, understood her reasons. He also understood that the Olsen's down the street were football fanatics who had no such qualms. Their oldest son, only nine at the time, had taken to hitting the younger boys whom he had deemed 'too girly'. The young father had only been trying to prevent his newborn son from being the target of bullies when he scribbled 'Elijah' in front of Leslie, changing the disaster of a first name into an embarrassing middle name.

Understandably, his wife was not happy about this.

Fighting ensued, and the couple across the street stewed in the knowledge that Mr. and Mrs. perfect weren't so perfect after all. Much too their dismay, it blew over quickly as they became too concerned with the abundance of diapers and lack of sleep to properly yell at each other.

Little fights popped up after that, most of them concerning parenting. Mainly about how Will had no idea what he was doing, and how Madeline was reading too many parenting books.

"Counseling isn't parenting," Will had argued, "I doubt there's a single book on what to do when your five year old flushes your wallet down the toilet claiming a water gremlin has his teddy bear hostage."

Things really came to head when, at the ripe age of eight and a half, Eli had a run in with the youngest Olsen, who pushed him off the swing set for still believing in fairies. (He had tried to warn the older boy about a pixie nest underneath his house)

When he came home crying, Madeline reaction was to hold him and tell him that boys could believe in fairies too. Eli ran to his room. "It's pixies! Faeries are almost extinct!" Will's reaction was to dig up his old boxing gloves and haul the sobbing boy to the garage.

The next day, there was an angry note on the counter, and the gloves, his old baseball bat, and anything that could be used as a weapon had been thrown away.

Not one to give up easily, Will bought his son another bat, a crossbow, and a chest full of Ninja stars. He made Eli keep them a secret, and taught the boy how to use them on the nights that his mother came home late from work. Eli was absolutely horrible at using the bar and crossbow, but he was scarily good at wielding the ninja stars. (For an eight-year-old at least)

You could imagine what went down when Madeline heard about _that_.

The next two years and a half years, their arguments grew steadily louder, and their marriage steadily deteriorated. Their growing rift wasn't because of Eli, it was the lack of communication that had caused those incidents. They fought over jobs, cleaning, politics, and just about everything there was to fight over. It was when they finally realized the invisible line that had been drawn through the middle of the bed that they finally decided to get a divorce, and went their separate ways. Madeline got the school week, Will got the weekends, and they each got every other Easter.

Things were hard the first year, but they were on much better terms now. Somehow, the split had forced them to communicate more than they had while they were married. They both hated the other's parenting styles (and each other), but they swallowed their hatred for the sake of Eli. That begrudging communication was what sparked the current conversation.

"…and he won't answer any of my questions! He's just so… ugh!" Madeline's voice came over the phone. "I don't- and then there's that Lake boy, you know the one Mrs. Nuñez always complains about?"

Will nodded, forgetting that Madeline couldn't see the action. "How couldn't I?" He worked a low pay job in the parks department. He'd worked with (although _for_ was a more accurate description) Mrs. Nuñez ever since she was elected. They were trying to clear the mysterious piles of rubble that had popped up all over town, creating major roadblocks, and especially in the forest.

"Eli thinks Lake's the _Trollhunter_. And don't you think it's strange that he only started acting like this a week after Jim was mysteriously cured of 'Jim Lake Disease'? Talking back, acting out, disappearing. He wore _face paint_ , Will. And that weird helmet too, I saw that Palchuck kid wearing the same thing."

Will sighed, "What are you getting at?"

"I think he's in some sort of cult? I mean, that Darklands stuff he keeps talking about? Doesn't that sound like some millennial voodoo stuff? I don't think he's just trying to get out of trouble, not anymore. I think he really believes what he's saying."

Will was going to make a comment about being paranoid and overprotective, but he bit it back. "The kid still thought Santa Clause was real until last Christmas."

Madeline huffed. "Yeah, when he found a receipt in his Christmas present. _Your_ gift to him if I recall."

Will ignored the comment. "You sure it's not, I dunno, some elaborate prank. That kid's a master if the last April fools are anything to go by. It took me a week to get the everything out of my hair."

Will could practically hear Madeline rolling her eyes. "Uh, huh. He crashed my car."

 _Serves you right._ Once again, he had to refrain from saying something he'd regret. He decided on something safe. "Did you see with the psychiatrist yet?"

"Yeah, I called in a favor. Took him to Dr. Reynolds today, before I dropped him off at yours. Reynolds, well, he didn't give me much to go on. Said he'd try to meet sometime next week."

Will frowned, switching the phone to his other ear, to ease up his cramping hand. "He doesn't know? Isn't he the best in the state?"

"Just the county." Madeline corrected over the phone. "But he's good. He can usually get a good picture of what's going on in the first meeting. I guess this is more complicated than we thought."

Will was about to comment when the smoke alarm went off. Crap. He'd forgotten about the frozen pizza he'd thrown in the oven. "Gotta go." He said quickly, shoving his phone into his pockets. He grabbed mitts from the drawer and pulled open the oven. Even with the mitts on, his hands still burned as he dropped the tray on the counter. He shook off the mitts and ran to the living room, grabbing a pillow to swat at the smoke alarm. After a minute of frantically waving it back and forth in the air, the high pitched beeping finally stopped.

"Eli! Dinner!"

He frowned when Eli didn't come down. Eli had a habit of getting so absorbed in his studies that he forgot to eat. He grabbed a paper plate from the pile and scraped a few charred pieces onto it. He carried it up the steps, gently opening the door to place it on Eli's desk.

Will blinked in shock when he wasn't met with the scratching of a pencil or the ruffling of papers. In fact, he wasn't met with Eli at all. He shivered as cold air blew in through the open window. His eyes narrowed. He'd been a teenager once too, he understood what an open window and empty room meant.

Until that moment, he'd thought this was all another case of Madeline's paranoia. After all, this was _Eli_. True, he'd had more attitude recently, but for Merlin's sake, the worst thing he'd ever caught the kid doing was pouring flour all over the floor so that he could get evidence that Santa had been there. He drummed his fingers on the desk, accidentally knocking a red sharpie onto the floor. As he bent to pick it up, he noticed a crumpled piece of paper that had narrowly missed the trashcan. His curiosity getting the best of them, he smoothed it out. Scribbled in red ink was the following:

 _2755, Ellington St._

 _Bring Gaggletack_

 **I want to reiterate that it wasn't Eli's fault that they separated, it was Madeline and Will's lack of communication regarding how to best raise him. In my head, Madeline is the strict, hands on parent, that does most of the actual parenting. Will is lax, and tries to be the 'fun dad', but has no clue what he's doing. Madeline is too paranoid, and Will doesn't know how to discipline. We don't see much interaction with either of them, but seeing how Eli interacts with Flip, his 'child', gives an idea of how his mother raised him. I based Will off the comment about frozen pizzas because that was all I had to go on.**

 **With school back up, I'm going to begin posting once a week, every Friday. So if you follow this story, check your notifications then.**

 **Thank you all for the wonderful comments, and as always… and POV suggestions?**


	7. Paranoia

Dr. Reynolds knew Lauren was standing outside the door. He'd known for the past ten minutes, but he was busy. He had files to rewrite, digitalize, and back up. He always kept an extra copy.

He sighed, pushing his papers to the side. "Do come in Lauren. I may not be a mind reader, but I can tell you've something to say."

Lauren shuffled in, gripping a manilla folder in a deathly hold. "It's about one of your clients."

Reynolds groaned inwardly. "Tell Mr. And Mrs. Shwartzky that if their son refuses to take his medication, there is only so much I can do."

Lauren bit her lip. "It's about the _other job_." She layed the folder open on the desk. Reynolds flinched instinctively. It had been years since he'd seen… "I don't know what it means, but it was on the list you gave me." Lauren wrapped her hands nervously in the hemline of her shirt.

"Dr. Reynolds, I was wondering if, well. Since I held out my end of the deal, you could-"

"Who was it." Dr. Reynolds growled.

Lauren took step back. "Dr. Reynolds, your- your _eyes_."

"Tell me who it was." His voice had gone down an octave, snarling, raspy, and clearly not human. "Tell me who brought this in."

Lauren was terrified, that much he could tell. He was the stuff out of nightmares and he hadn't even shifted yet. "P-pepperjack. Elijah Pepperjack."

 _Of course_. He'd thought the boy had simply seen too much. The goblins and gnomes he had described were commonplace in the human realm. It was nothing a simple memory potion couldn't fix, and all the better for it. But now it seemed as though he had been tiptoeing around the topic of anything bigger. Of Trolls, and Gum-gums, and _Changelings_.

How much did he know? The Changelings had gone into hiding after Gunmar was killed. It was a well known fact that Changelings did anything to protect their own skin. Most had sided with Gunmar, despite the slaughter at the Janus order headquarters. Two odd Changelings had decided to help the Trollhunter.

The Changeling world was brutal. Anything, any minor infraction, and you were killed. It didn't matter to the Gum-gums that they could be valuable assets. Changelings were less than human, barely above a goblin. Impure. Worthless. Dr. Reynolds was one of the select few Changelings that never got involved. They had found a way to fake their death. (That was easily done, just placing another tally on the papers. After all, what was one more Impure?) Then they disappeared. Changed their human names, moved to another country, lived their lives in human form. He was only ten when he left his station in Scotland, and all these years he had not been found. Until now.

If Lauren was terrified, words could not even begin to explain how Dr. Reynolds felt.

He forced his eyes to return to normal, but his voice still scratched against his throat. "Tell me, or I'll send out the photo." He threatened. "With the speed of the internet, it shouldn't take long for long for your parents to stumble across it. How do you think they'll react when they learn that their precious daughter is nothing but a-"

 _Crash_.

Reynolds flinched, fingers curling around the edges of his death as he shakily stood up. "Look outside." He commanded, hoping Lauren didn't notice the cracks in his resolve.

"But-" Who else knew? How much did they know? The boy, Lauren, now this intruder, he had to resolve this quickly, or he would never be a free man again. Changelings were not created to be kind. They did immoral things for their own self preservation. It was simply a fact of their existence. But Dr. Reynolds had not been a changeling for over thirty years. Could he do it?

"Go."

He screwed his eyes shut. He knew Lauren wouldn't fail him. They were too alike. The scale's tipped against them, a perilous secret, a skewed sense of wrong and right, and a community that placed them less than human. She would have made an excellent Changeling.

Lauren soon returned, dragging two boys in by their hair. One was easily recognizable, Elijah Pepperjack, the other had a mop of blonde hair and smeared black face paint. They were nothing more than teens, and hardly that.

He followed their gaze, swallowing in confusion, then disbelief, and finally relief. They were staring at Elijah's hands, more specifically, at the Gaggletack in Eli's hands, which he had pressed flush to Lauren's skin. Elijah frowned, then touched it to her arm as though expecting a different reaction.

Reynolds let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. So they didn't know. Not yet.

He quickly regained his composure. Unsure what to do, he filled the time with a stern lecture about trespassing, made a show of 'discreetly' copying down the incident down into Pepperjack's file, and threatened to call their parents. He'd considered calling the police. He didn't want to get them involved, but it might look suspicious if he didn't. Or perhaps he was paranoid. Luckily, Pepperjack's father arrived just as Reynolds ran out of things to say, and drove the pair home. He copied down the fact of the divorce into his file, he was a psychiatrist after all.

The incident finally handled, he collapsed into his chair. "Thank you." he breathed, face wet with pent up tears. "Thank you." He'd been so scared. Terrified.

Lauren managed a reluctant smile. She didn't ask what he meant.

He'd like to say it was because of his humanity, or because he holding up his end of the deal, but that wasn't true. Lauren didn't know what he was yet, but in Reynolds frantic efforts to keep his secret, he had exposed himself to be something not quite human. He couldn't afford to be discovered, not now. Better to have a reluctant friend than an unwilling ally. So he decided to do as Lauren had asked. He tore the photo into seven different pieces and lit them ablaze with the end of his cigarette. He had nothing to lose by doing so.

He always kept an extra copy.


	8. French Fries

Boys were stupid.

Claire could attest to that. She'd seen more than enough substantial evidence. From the way Draal hovered around Namura after Gunmar was killed to the way her dad refused to make soy patties (again), boys could be so absolutely stubborn and clueless. Then again, so was she, refusing to tell Blinky the truth about the strange dreams she'd been having, but that was beside the point. Currently, Claire was being subjected to a whole new level of stupidity in the form of Steve.

"… and then his dad drove us home. It was humiliating. He lectured us the whole time, as if we hadn't gotten enough from Mr. Know-it-all. And now even Eli's _dad_ won't let Eli leave the house. Where did we go wrong?"

Claire pressed her palm to her forehead. She couldn't believe he was even asking that question. "The part where you broke into a perfectly normal human's office, or the part where you got caught?"

"Eli thought she was a changeling!" Steve shouted, earning weird from the table beside them. He quickly straightened up, avoiding all the eyes as he said all too loudly, "Pfft, loser." Claire saw Eli shrink into his seat across the cafeteria.

"Next time, if you don't want to get caught on a 'Creepslaying'" she drew quotation marks in the air around the word. "mission, you need to prepare. Do some research, come up with a list of good lies, _train_. You two should come with us to train this weekend. Jim can teach you how to use a sword, and Blinky can tell you more about changelings so you don't get caught next time.

"But Eli's grounded!"

"The first time Jim got grounded we took the Gyre to another continent." Claire refuted. "You want to help us take down the rest of the scattered changelings or not?" Claire bit her cheek. That came out a lot ruder than she had intended.

"I don't want Eli to get in trouble again. It's bad enough that I showed up at his mom's with a Vespa, now I broke into a clinic with him. If he get's in any worse trouble, I might never get to see him again." At the small smile that was beginning to form on Claire's face he added. "You know, to fight Creepers and stuff."

"You like him a lot don't you?"

"Y-yeah I do." Claire didn't miss the way his face flushed. "He's just a really good partner. Like, he's really smart, and a really good partner, and I have a lot of fun partnering with him." He bit his lip to stop himself from rambling.

That was _way_ too many uses of the word 'partner'. "You mean friend?" When Steve didn't answer, she added. "I've had enough of Jim's lies to know when to sniff one out. You think of him as a friend, just admit it." Again, no answer.

She cupped her hands over her mouth. "Hey Eli! Over here!" Eli met her eyes, then looked away. Claire groaned. _Boys_. Why were they so stubborn? Meanwhile, Steve stared at her like _she_ was the idiot.

Another groan. "Half the school thinks you have a crush on me after all those stunts you pulled to get back at Jim." Since Toby and Jim despised Steve, and the feeling was very much mutual, she'd been acting as a go-between to limit their interactions. Unfortunately Mary Wang, the school's most dedicated source of gossip, had gotten wind of it, and assumed he was her boy-toy. Claire despised that idea, it couldn't be farther from the truth. Although to be fair, they still thought she had a college boo. At Steve's horror stricken face, she added. "They'll think you're just sucking up to me, so don't worry about your stupid cover."

Another thing she hated about Steve. His stupid cover. It wasn't fair to Eli. They'd fought goblins alongside each other, deciphered a code that gave unsettling, but highly important, information about the pale lady, and even caught two of the scattered Changelings so far, yet Steve still cared more about his reputation than Eli. Heck, he hadn't even given Eli a proper apology yet, much to Claire's dismay.

When Claire confronted Steve about it after Gunmar's death a month ago, he'd asked, quote ' _But hasn't Eli already forgiven me?'_. Clair detested that. The point of an apology wasn't about asking for forgiveness, it was about being someone worth forgiving. Eli was too nice, giving out forgiveness too readily, accepting that Steve had changed when he really hadn't. Okay, maybe Steve had changed a little, but he was still a massive jerk. He had a long way to go before he was someone worthy of Eli's forgiveness. At least, that was the way Claire viewed it.

But that was a talk she'd be having later, right now she focused on the task at hand: Dragging Eli. Eli wiggled in protest as her hand pulled at his wrist, jerking him out of his seat. His fight was short lived, however, when Claire marched him back to where Steve had his face in his hands, red with embarrassment.

Or maybe something else.

 _Okay_ , Claire thought, shaking her head like that would get rid of the budding idea, _maybe Mary's rubbing off on me a bit too much_. Claire plopped herself down into the creaky cafeteria chairs, reaching across the table to steal one of Steve's fries. "What?" She asked in response to Steve's glare. "I skipped breakfast." Claire scratched her bandaged wrist. Pesky gnomes.

It was silent. Eli stared at the ground, while Steve placed a protective hand over his dwindling supply of fries. It was futile. Claire was a worthy opponent, slinking in only when Steve's eyes lingered too long at Eli's fidgeting hands.

"So…" she drawled, when the awkwardness became unbearable.

"…so" Eli finished. "How's… the weather?"

Claire resisted the urge to face-palm. Was this what they had been reduced to? Small talk? "Fine Eli." Steve's supply of fries gone, she snagged a couple from Eli's pile. Eli pushed the plate towards her, then looked back at his hands. "Okay, spill it you two." She huffed. "You're acting weirder than usual."

Steve took a breath, like he was going to speak, then shut his mouth. Eli's fidgeting increased. Claire furrowed her eyebrows. Eli being nervous was nothing new, but Steve refusing a chance to hear himself speak… this was worrying. "Guys?"

When Eli finally looked up, his eyes were watering. "I-It's my mom."

"He told her." Steve's eyes flitted across the room, looking anywhere but at Eli's eyes.

Eli nodded. "And she doesn't believe me."

Steve's hands fisted. "She made him see a psychiatrist, Claire. A shrink."

Claire bit the inside of her cheek, remembering all the times her mom had drug her to see Mrs. Pepperjack after she became a part of the team. Her mom had an awfully strange way of showing it, but Claire knew that she cared. She just cared about her job more. "There's nothing wrong with seeing a therapist. A lot of people do it."

"That's a psychologist. Psychiatrists are for people with mental disorders." Steve corrected, in a rare show of knowledge. Although it was fairly obvious where he had learned it, seeing as Eli's mom was a therapist.

"I'm not crazy." Eli all but whispered.

And suddenly it all made sense. Eli had believed in these things long before Claire or Toby, or even Jim. And every time he'd tried to tell people, they'd called him crazy. Steve had even stuffed Eli in a locker for it… and just as he had finally shaken off the bullies from middle school. A brief memory popped up in her head. An offhanded, seemingly inconsequential comment from Jim after the pixie incident. Something about Eli and a wooden sword… monsters… no one believing him. Pixies found your greatest fear and twisted it. If that was Eli's greatest fear…

She remembered the look of hurt on Jim's face when she had called him crazy. Claire was just a crush then. Imagine hearing that, your greatest fear, from your own _mom_.

She couldn't imagine it.

"I know Pepperbuddy." Steve said, his hands covering Eli's smaller one's. Claire could tell it was a strain to reach across the table like that. Steve couldn't, or at least he didn't show it. He peeled Eli's fidgeting hands apart. It wasn't quite like their fingers were interlaced, but it was close. The angle was odd, the corner of the table was digging into Steve's stomach, and Eli's eyes were puffy, but Claire couldn't help but feel like she was interrupting something important. Something sacred.

Careful not to disturb them, she stood up, Eli's French fries tucked under her arm.

 _Boys were stupid_ , Claire thought, _but maybe they're not as bad as they seem._

 **I decided to update early because this contains no plot. Creepslayerz was a great episode, my favorite by far, but that friendship isn't going anywhere if Steve doesn't practice some humility. Eli deserves an apology, and Steve really doesn't deserve his forgiveness. Not yet anyway.**

 **To clear things up: In this fic, Gunmar was defeated a month before. Claire is having more and more dreams, but still hasn't told anyone. Determined to help, Eli and Steve have been tasked with finding the changelings that went into hiding after Gunmar's death.**

 **Lastly, any POV suggestions? What major or minor character would you like featured in the next chapter?**


	9. Stones

Bagdwella barely knew the two, not like she knew the Trollhunter. She'd been slightly offended at Steve's exclamation of "Ma'am. Sir? Creeper…?", but she bit back her judgment the moment she stepped out from underneath the bridge. Safely stowed beneath the shade of the trees, she offered a smile which caused the shorter one to flinch. The taller one, with the oily mop on his head and upturned collar, placed a hand on his shoulder.

That had been just over a month ago, and Bagdwella wasn't entirely sure why her thoughts strayed to the duo. Her eyes fell to the mess that had once been her cave. Her precious collection of socks and trinkets lay buried beneath the rubble, the tv screens shattered around her. She tried not to think, as she lifted a stone, that these rocks had once belonged to trolls, turned by Gunmar, and forced to fight in his army. Her friends, ones that they had no other choice but to kill.

Gunmar was gone, and yet he never would be. His mark lay on every piece of rubble that covered every inch of troll market. It was so horrible, so _wrong_ , to disturb those piles. But time does not stop for those in mourning.

Lifting a particularly heavy stone, her thoughts strayed back to the boys. She had met only three humans before (four if you counted the Trollhunter's mother), but she liked to think she understood them. The Trollhunter fought because it was his duty, the Trollhunter's shorter friend fought because Jim fought, and the girl fought for the sake of her brother.

But those fleshlings from the forest, they fought a fight that was not their own.

Why had they done that? Bagdwella would have liked to say she had some profound realization. Perhaps reiterate something she had found on a human phone booth decades before. Yet, for all of her centuries of wisdom, she remained at a loss. She simply would not, _could_ not know. Perhaps that was alright.

In the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of yellow.


	10. The Faerie Queen

Áine was the last of her kind. The Fae lived so long that they almost seemed immortal. Even Áine wasn't sure how much longer she had. For the first three millennia of her existence, she'd foolishly believed that Faeries couldn't die. She'd thought that the greatest harm that could ever befall her was what had almost transpired with a haughty Irish king.

She was wrong.

The human king may have been strong, but he was nothing compared to the wileish ways of the pixies. They fought not with teeth and steel, but with tricks and guille. They invaded minds and memories, warping their deepest fears into a weapon of mass destruction as they poured poison into each Faerie's sleeping mouth. It wasn't war, it was genocide.

She wasn't sure if it was a blessing or a curse that they decided to spare her. The Fae can shift their forms at will, but weakened in her grief, she found herself unable to grow. And so she watched from the blades of grass as the pixies began their reign.

Eventually, a stone creature came across her clearing, picking her up with one of his six great arms. The wicked troll placed her in a matchbox and hung her round his neck like she was a stone or amulet. Once again, she'd been stupid enough to beleive that was the worst of it, but when a goose with a broken wing ran past her captor, her fate was sealed.

The troll may have been a brute, but he was not stupid. Always prepared, he carried a glamour stone, which he would often peer through. He saw past her magik and recognized the goose for what it was, the Irish king who had defiled her robes and golden threads. A Faerie toy was something to break and dispose of, a creature who could change a beings very nature, was an asset.

The six eyed fiend gave her to a troll named Gunmar, a gift, or perhaps a bribe for his favor. The Troll king placed her in a bird cage, and clipped one of her four wings so she couldn't fly. She denied him at first. Áine refused to do his bidding, but when Deya the Deliverer locked the Gum-Gum king in the parklands, taking the Faerie with him, she was trapped.

It was a blessing then how the Darklands drained her of her magik, forcing her to stay in a weakened form, unable to speak or fly. For if it had not, Áine could not know what she would have done.

For 400 years, she was a slave. Once the most powerful queen in all of Ireland, now the size of a thumb, curled to the bottom of her cage like a firefly in a glass jar. It was a pitiful existence, but a fate she had accepted long ago...

Until a human child tripped over her cage in the earthen halls of Trollmarket. The weight of his converse snapped the golden cage and she crawled out, climbing the rubble like the mountains of her homelands. A troll woman had her back turned from her, arms cradling stones like a child. She stood on the peak of the rubble, testing her wings.

The Darklands had eaten at her, and Gunmar had made certain she couldn't fly, but even the weakened thrum of a corrupted hearthstone was enough to heal her broken wing. Áine hovered in the air, incredulous at the feeling. She hadn't flied in 400 years. Forgetting her cover, she zipped around the cavern, becoming but a yellow blur in the corner of the troll woman's vision.

She passed through the barrier easily, burrowing through the earth and into the sunlight. Outside, she shifted into her humanoid form, wings folded into a yellow gown. A womanly figure gaped at her.

Áine smiled warmly, creating a series of clicks in a tongue only she recognized. She frowned, then grunted out a greeting in Trollish. She squinted at the woman before her. Ah, a human. It had been centuries since she had seen one of those.

"Dia dhuit" she tried. No response. It seemed she would have to use a process of trial and error. "thiat taybata." More open mouthed staring.

"Wènhòu."

"Χαίρετε?"

"Мои извинения, это правильный язык?"

"Wy, ludzie, macie zbyt wiele form języka."

"Wie kommunizierst du?"

"Hello?"

"¿Este humano está roto?"

The woman steadied herself on the support beams of the bridge. "What _are_ you?"

 **I wanted to base this in reality, so Áine is based off an actual diety in Irish folklore. I've always believed that AAARRRGGHH's limited vocabulary was due to a language barrier rather than a lack of intelligence. I wanted to replicate this with Áine.**

 **Dia dhuit: Irish, meaning 'Hello.'**

 **Thiat taybata: Arabic, meaning 'Greetings.'**

 **Wènhòu: Chinese, meaning 'Greetings.'**

 **Χαίρετε: Greek, meaning 'Hello?'**

 **Мои извинения, это правильный язык: Russian, meaning 'My apologies, is this the right language?'**

 **Wy, ludzie, macie zbyt wiele form języka: Polish, meaning 'You humans have too many forms of language'.**

 **Wie kommunizierst du: German, meaning 'How do you communicate?'**

 **Este humano está roto: Spanish, meaning 'Is this human broken?'**


	11. Raccoons

Rachel Cheok was a proud woman. Not in the terms of arrogance or bullheadedness (although she had plenty of that), but in the terms of her life's accomplishments. She owned a studio apartment downtown, edited an article for the Arcadia Review, and was on the precipice of getting answers for the personal project she was hoping to become her big break in the journalism world.

She was so _close_ too. She had pinned up blurry photographs and newspaper clippings to a wall in her living room like in one of those deceptive shows her hopefully-soon-to-be-fiancé liked so much. The pins were sparkly blue instead of read and they were attached with an ugly brown string she'd unravelled from that Christmas sweater her grandmother knitted that she'd never had the heart to throw away, but well, she had a budget.

Rachel was a proud woman, which is why her glorious-spectacular-how-on-earth-did-I-end-up-with-someone-this-amazing lover simply sighed and handed her a cup of coffee before rushing off to work with a troubled expression. Rachel burned her tongue on the hot coffee, spilling it on her Spiderman pajamas, and attempted to rub out the bags under her eyes. Deeming it useless, she called in sick (she wasn't), and fell dramatically onto the coach. Rachel squinted at the board (she couldn't see without her glasses), and steepled her hands underneath her chin like Benedict Cumberbatch on that show her awesome-amazing-what-did-I-do-to-deserve-this-absolute-angel of a partner had forced her to watch.

Okay, so maybe forced was a strong word. Coerced was better, strongly encouraged, traded in exchange for-

Ahem.

To be fair, she was calling in sick for a good reason. Rachel was on the verge of something big. Unless her sleep deprived brain had been creating hallucinations before she passed out from exhaustion at 5:00 am that morning, she had almost all the pieces. Almost.

Rachel had been studying the recent spike of raccoon sighting in Arcadia and the surrounding populations within the last 5 years. It was a strange phenomena that no one could quite explain. Her boss had scoffed when she'd asked for permission to research the story, saying that raccoons had simply migrated. It was a reasonable enough explanation except for the fact that Arcadia had gotten 347 raccoon complaints that month, and of those complaints, only an average of 23 were actually reported to have been seen.

It was… perplexing.

Rachel's boss told her to stop with the conspiracy theories and get back to work, but Rachel persisted. As a wise man once said, or rather, scratched onto the bus stop on 22nd street and signed "Blinky", if it's everyone it must be a conspiracy. And indeed, it was everyone. Or rather, the 324 people who had sent in complaints without actually seeing the raccoons themselves. Aside from the occasional get-off-my-lawn type person, people had to have it happen often enough for them to send in a complaint. Which meant that these animals, or people, or whatever they were, had come to these people's houses on multiple occasions. The question though, was _why_.

Why were there so many? Why return to the scene of the crime? Why Arcadia?

Rachel was on the verge of something. She knew it because in the past month, there was only 38 sightings. 38. Not to mention the weird light show a few weeks ago, or the almost humanoid broken statues that had appeared scattered in the town and forest the morning after. They were connected, Rachel knew it, so she had taken the initiative to borrow one of the stones from the cleanup crew. Okay, maybe steal.

The stone resembled a foot. A strange foot with spices sticking out of it, but a foot nonetheless. Carved into the gray were designs. Simple designs, a pattern that seemed to repeat, and yet Rachel knew there was something more to them. The lines were too delicate, too narrow and careful to have been put there by a weirdo cult. Not to mention that of the over 200 living and dead languages had researched (aka, googled) last night, not a single one seemed to match it. And yet the way the stone seemed to hum when she picked it up, as though it had once been a living creature, seemed nothing less than a language. She pulled up her laptop and googled 'dead languages', groaning at the lightened text at the top of page.

About 8,540,000 results (0.46 seconds)

Rachel rubbed the bags underneath her eyes. She had work to do.

 **Don't laugh, Arcadia has a serious raccoon problem. Jim, Steve, and Claire all mention it at some point in the show. I thought I'd address it while our lovely miss Áine is busy getting chewed out by the mysterious human woman.**


	12. Hot Chocolate

"... has an interesting taste in this era. Personally I brew my tea with less sugar and more sprigs of chamomile and lavender."

It was hot chocolate.

Madeline drummed her fingers overtop the kitchen table, resisting the urge to drag her hands down her face and groan in frustration. Despite bringing the strange woman home and listening to her twitter on about pixies and Fae and the mountains of Munster, she still had no clue who the woman was.

"... uh, sure." She drawled. Madeline didn't have the heart to tell her it was hot chocolate. "So who exactly are you? I mean how did you do..." she gestured vaguely in the air. " _That_."

The woman frowned. "I don't understand. Is this a form of sign language? I've heard of the concept, but I'm afraid that was invented long after my stay in the Darklands."

Madeline stiffened. Thoughts of Eli ran through her mind. Her heart clenched in guilt, if this wasn't a prank... "The Darklands?"

The woman (creature?) frowned at her cup. "You don't know? I'd assumed all humans would be aware. Gunmar may have seemed a moot threat after Deya's great battle, but do humans truly not teach this? Your royalty must be utter buffoons to forgo teaching their people such important history."

"We're a democracy."

The woman either didn't hear or pretended not to. "Tell me," she said. "Where is the nearest castle? I will fly there to ask for safe passage to my homelands."

"We're a democracy." Madeline repeated. "There aren't any castles in America, and humans can't fly."

"I am no human." A sad look filled her guest's eyes. "I am a Faerie, the last of my kind." She stirred her drink with slim finger, seemingly oblivious to the scalding temperature of the drink as she stared into the swirling liquid.

 _"It's pixies! Faeries are almost extinct!"_

"A faerie." Madeline breathed, remembering the time she'd bandaged up Eli's arm. He might have been eight then, but he knew. He'd always known. She felt like throwing up. What kind of mother was she? He'd only been trying to warn her and she'd… Madeline shook her head, gripping her own cup like a lifeline. "Faeries… pixies… these things are _real_." her voice cracked.

The Faerie scowled. "I do not wish to speak of those vile creatures more than strictly necessary. Those fiends are responsible for the massacre of my entire people. They do not deserve the mention of name."

Madeline pursed her lips. "I'm sorry for your loss." It was one of those social cues she was obligated to follow. She didn't mean it, not really. She felt pity for the woman, but she couldn't begin to understand it. She hardly knew this woman.

The Faerie knew this. "No, you are not. It was hundreds of years before your birth. You could not have down them as I did. It does not those Lon deceased. My tears have been dried long ago. Although I have long suspected, or rather hoped, that my wayward friend Morrígan, the pale beauty, might have survived the massacre…" her voice trailed off. "But no. That is impossible. My people are long gone."

The silence was awkward, pierced only by the stirring of hot chocolate, and the spluttering cough when Madeline forgot about the temperature of the liquid and tried to gulp it down.

"Áine."

Madeline jolted up in her seat at the sudden voice. "What?"

"You wanted to know who I was, yes? My name is Áine, the queen… former queen of the Faeries of Munster." She shifted in her seat. "I have not been the most gracious guest. It seems my understanding of human customs is greatly outdated." The admission looked almost painful.

Madeline wasn't sure what to say, so she just looked to a random spot behind Áine's shoulder. Áine spun around, thinking the gaze was meaningful. The Faerie's eye caught on a framed photo. It was a photo of Eli in seventh grade, posing in front of his History Day project on 'The Importance of Norse Mythology in Modern Culture'. Eli, having gotten his first phone for his birthday the month before, had insisted on taking a 'selfie' with his mom.

"Is that your son?" Áine asked. Madeline nodded. The Faerie frowned. "Where is his father?"

"I take Eli during the week." At Áine's scrunched eyebrows, she added. "We're divorced." The look of confusion persisted. "As in, not married anymore."

Áine didn't look like she understood, but she mouthed 'ah' anyway. It was obvious to both that there would be a gap in understanding. They came from different worlds. Different times, different cultures, different _species_.

"I too have children. Many in fact. 86 daughters and 97 sons. I have lived millennia as the queen of a great people, but never have I felt greater pride than in watching my children grow. Perhaps you have heard of them. They call themselves wizards."

Madeline raised an eyebrow, but she didn't comment. She'd heard weirder things that day. "So you're a mother too?"

"Bet you were…" Madeline sighed. "Bet you were a great one, huh." Her thoughts roamed to Eli. The past few weeks, every fight, every hurtled insult that had felt like a blade in Madeline's side, when really… she was the one at fault. Eli didn't lie. Why would he? He was the kindest, most trustworthy boy she knew, and she may have been slightly biased, but you could ask anyone at school. His best friend was a stuffed octopus, and his idea of fun was going to the library to look up the history of ghost sightings in North America. He lied sometimes, sure, but he was a kid. Madeline could count each time he lied because he was an absolutely horrible lier. So why hadn't she trusted him? He had been telling the truth the entire time, and she took him to the _psychiatrist_. Eli… what had she done?

"Hell of a lot better than me anyway." Madeline sighed.

Áine snorted. "I beg to differ. I was an absolutely horrible mother."

"Oh, shut up." Madeline groaned "Can't you see the pity party I'm having over here?"

"Pity par-" Áine stopped at Madeline's glare, shoulders stiffening. "Er, do continue." Madeline slumped her head in her hands and groaned. Áine opened her mouth then closed it again, as though deciding whether or not to speak.

"If it makes you feel any better-" Madeline lifted her head. Áine chose to ignore the glare this time, clearing her throat. "If it makes you feel any better, I too had my failings. My son, Merlin once warned me of a time where Faerie would be for naught and humans would rule the land. I ignored his words, for while prophets may be of any class or species, they are rare to be found. My people died for my ignorance. Whatever has happened between you and your son, is it worse than this?"

A pregnant pause "..no."

"Then what is broken now, fix it." The words could have been profound, or at least somewhat helpful. Alas, quotable speech is rare and usually found in books and movies where it was deliberated for months before hand. Real conversation isn't a pretty, so it should be no one's surprise when Áine added:

"I don't suppose you have a guest room?"

 **Sorry about the html issues, I hope this is readable**


	13. Cooking

_Ring Ring._

At the start of the school year, Jim Lake's greatest concerns were taking care of his mother, passing math, and avoiding conflict, not necessarily in that order. Jim had never been bullied, outcast and ignored, yes, but never bullied. Still, according to valuable sources (Toby) that he had great potential to be a prime target, and Jim knew from experience that getting stuck inside a locker wasn't any fun. (Long story) Needless to say, it was a chance he wasn't willing to take.

 _Ring Ring._

After killing Bulgar, slaying Gunmar, and successfully halting several Gnome revolts, bullies were no longer a threat. They were more of a pest, an annoying fly not worth his time.

 _Ring Ring._

That he was just going to ignore until it went away-

 _Ring Ring._

Damn it.

Jim swiped to the left and pressed his phone to his ear. "This had better be good Steve."

"I…" There was shuffling on the other end, and a loud beeping in the distance. "I need your help." Steve forced himself to say.

Jim groaned, but unfortunately for him, a trollhunter always answered the call. "What is it?"

"Uh…" A long pause. "…cooking?"

Jim, who had been in the middle of tugging on his shoe, froze. Nope, not happening.

"It's an apology of sorts. Not for you, obviously!" Steve swore and backtracked "Sorry. Look, I know we don't get along but-" the beeping got louder, accompanied by a loud crash.

Jim frowned. "Was that the smoke alarm?"

"Yes, but-" Steve didn't get to finish his sentence, as Jim had already hung up. He tugged on his other shoe and hopped onto his vespa. No one's kitchen burned down on his watch. In other words, his mom was trying her hand at cooking tonight and he needed an excuse to leave.

Several minutes later, he pulled up outside of the one story house. It wasn't anything special, with it's detached garage and overgrown shrubbery, but Jim still stared in mental preparation.

 _Here goes nothing._

Steve was pulling Jim inside before he'd even lifted his hand to knock. Relief was written on his face, along with flour and peanut butter. Jim didn't ask. Seeing as Steve was still wearing his sneakers, he didn't bother taking off his shoes and followed him to the kitchen.

It looked like Kharybdis (Ha! Take that Mr. Warner! I _do_ pay attention to your Odyssey monologues in English.) had sucked up everything edible and vomited it back up. As a self-proclaimed cooking conosuoier, Jim was horrified. He sent Steve an accusatory glare.

"So, can you help or not buttsnack?" Steve grimaced, but forced it out "Please?"

Jim picked up a cloth and ran it under the sink. "Adding please to the end doesn't make it any less rude" He chucked the cloth at Steve's head. Steve scowled at it, and tossed it off. It flopped to the ground with a whimper. "That's called a cloth. You clean with it."

Steve's frown deepened. "I know what a cloth is."

"Then you'll have no problem using it." Jim couldn't help but grin in victory as Steve set to work on wiping the flour off the walls. It wasn't like Steve to not get the last word. Still smirking, Jim grabbed a sponge. They continued like that for far longer than Jim expected, but he knew it was only a matter of time.

People often describe hatred as fire, but that's not true. It's like boiling water, bubbling underneath the surface. It's anger-flushed skin, that slowly reddens until you can see the smoke coming out of a person's ears. With Steve, it wasn't smoke in his ears, but the steam coming off the dishes as he scratched at a particularly annoying spot, that broke his facade.

He grit his teeth. "Damn it Jim! This isn't cooking!"

Jim set down his clothe, unperturbed. There was the Steve he knew and hated. "Rule number 1: A clean working environment." Jim frowned, he sounded like Blinky. "I know you hate me, but I know what I'm doing."

"I don't hate you." Steve blurted out, one hand fumbling with the upturned collar of his shirt, the other hand hovering above the counter like he didn't know what to do with it. "I never did."

Jim frowned. "Then what was all that about? Your weird rivalry, taking Claire to the concert, spying on Toby? If you didn't hate me, then what was that for?"

Steve's eyes lingered on Jim's face. They were softer somehow, but maybe it was just his imagination. Suddenly, Steve's face turned red. "Doesn't matter!" He turned back around, scrubbing at the grease spot despite his previous protests.

Jim was beyond confused. Was it just him, or was Steve acting weird. Weirder than usual, although that adult diaper during the Spring King challenges had been…

Jim shuddered and dismissed the thought.

"Rule number 2: Ingredients." Jim mouthed, remembering the only good thing his deadbeat father had left him with. Did you really think Jim got his cooking expertise from his mom? Most of what Jim knew about cooking he had taught himself, but the basic principles had come from his father. Perhaps teaching a 5 year old how to use a stove and twirl steak knives wasn't the best idea, but James Lake Senior had done many questionable things. For example: leaving his wife and child in the middle of a Tuesday night. It wasn't like Jim missed him -Jim hardly remembered his father- but he knew his mom did. There was while where Jim hated his namesake for that, but it seemed silly now. Hating his father was a waste of energy, something Jim had come to terms with years ago.

"So what do you want to make?"

A shrug.

"Anything? Okay, I'll see what I can do." Jim peered around the kitchen "Where's the pantry?"

Steve jerked his thumb behind him to a row of cabinets above the countertop, muttering profanities under his breath.

Jim set to work. He'd decided on sphagetti. It was simple, and unless Steve couldn't have gluten, allergy. Flour…no parsley, but half a jar of oregano… table salt… canned tomato sauce (Jim hated using it, but he'd already checked the fridge and he was out of options)… vegetable oil. It wasn't what Jim was used to, but he could make do. Piling up the ingredients on the counter, Jim closed the cabinet door.

Jim tilted his head, eyes squinted. He reached out to touch it, then jerked his hand back before he could. Jim didn't need any splinters.

"Where'd this scratch come from?"

Steve's phone rang then, a weird recording of himself repeating 'buttsnack'. Jim didn't know why Steve was obsessed with the made up word, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. Steve exhaled in relief as he pressed the phone to his ear. His face went through so many changes in those few seconds that Jim couldn't keep track of them. All he knew was that by the time Steve spoke again, his smile was forced, as though he had to fake it for the person on the other line who couldn't even see him.

"That's- that's great Eli…It's not a big deal… No really!"" Jim could tell he didn't mean it. "See you soon Pepperbuddy." Steve hung up the phone, dejected. It didn't take long for the forced smile to turn into a grimace. An incredibly confused Jim was shoved outside with the words "Last time I take advice from your girlfriend."

By Deya's Grace, Steve Palchuck was _weird_.

 **First off, sorry for not updating last week. I had a lot going on, school, disapproving parents, my crush coming to me with his sexuality crisis… you know, the works. Anyhow, even though I hate this chapter and will likely be heavily editing it later, I hope this makes up for it. If you have any tips or things you don't understand, please comment. It would help me a lot.**


	14. New Leads

"You've reached the inbox of William Pepperjack. I either can't get to the phone or can't be bothered to. If it's Eli, there should be some microwave ravioli in the freezer. If you're Council Woman Nuñez, f**k off."

Rachel groaned. William was the only lead she had. After exhausting every dead and dying language known to google, she had almost given up. In a desperate final search she stumbled across some kid's blog with a picture of an arm-like stone and the caption 'The Creeper army is real and they've come to destroy us!"

It was obvious that _The_Truth_Seeker_ was a conspiracy theorist who shouldn't be taken seriously, but that wasn't Rachel's concern. The post dated back to a month and a half ago. _Two weeks_ before the mysterious rocks sprang up and the raccoons disappeared.

She'd tried to get in contact with the author, but the blog was anonymous and hadn't been active in a month. The part of Rachel that had seen too many horror films thought that maybe he had been "replaced with a giant Creeper!" as the blogger warned of their principal, but that was absurd.

So instead, she tracked down the image to a museum rock show. The rock had coincidentally gone missing, Ms. Namura had informed her, during her unannounced leave. Which meant that the only lead she had left was the man who discovered the rock arm, and he hadn't picked up his phone the last seven times she'd tried.

Grasping at straws, she stalked his Facebook page instead. A few posts lamenting his current job... A picture of his son asleep on his computer keyboard... an old photograph of William and his sister for 'Throwback Thursday'...

Wait.

Rachel scrolled back down, eyes locking on the screen. Behind the drooling preteen boy, she could see a login page. She zoomed in. Was that...?

It was.

 _The_Truth_Seeker'_ s blog.

Rachel grinned, finally, _finally_ , she had a lead. All she had to do was hop in the car and drive to Arcadia high. (The post had mentioned a 'Principal Stickler)

"And sleep." A voice added, thin arms wrapping around Rachel as a head rested on her shoulders.

Rachel reaches up to hold one of the dangling hands. "I said that out loud, didn't I?"

"Yep" Lauren nodded, popping the p. Rachel couldn't help but giggle, free hand tracing around a small box in pocket of her jacket. Her heart fluttered.

"Now come on," Lauren tugged on Rachel's arm, pulling her out of the chair. "You've already missed two days of work for this- don't think I didn't notice that- and your boss isn't going to let you miss another."

"But-" Rachel protested half-heartedly, stifling a yawn.

"It's 10:00. You need six to eight hours off sleep.

"I wake up at 7:00. That's nine-"

Lauren cut her off with a kiss.

 **So… remember that secret Lauren would do anything to protect?**

 **That's Rachel.**

 **While Rachel searches for the connection between the stone and the raccoons, and wrestles with whether or not to propose, your lovely author is on emotional overload.**

 **I asked my crush to dance with me at Sadie's.**

 **His idea of a 'slow dance' is a fucking ballroom dance. Dips and turns and everything. My poor heart can't handle it. The wort part? Half the school thinks we're dating and HE STILL DOESN'T GET IT.**

 **Whatever 14 year old with wifi connection and a computer that's writing about me from the fourth dimension needs to STOP. My life is a fucking fanfiction, I swear.**


	15. Moon

"…there's a picture in that file- I don't think I was supposed to see it- shows something on the rooftops. It's too blurry to tell what it is, but it's glowing, I _swear_."

"…glowing." The radio host drawled, obviously as skeptical as Anna.

"Yes! Glowing! Bright blue, and definitely human, or at least humanoid-"

Anna switched off the radio. She didn't have time for this. Well, technically she did- she was stuck in traffic- but it was an expression. She refrained from honking her horn, instead focusing on the rhythm of the windshield wipers, shielding her rusty car from hail. It was strange- the temperature rarely got below 40° in this part of California, let alone cold enough for hail to form. Having lived in southern California her whole life, Anna had never actually seen hail.

She struggled to keep her eyes open. It was late, the moon a half crescent in the sky. The craters in the moon formed dark blotches on its surface. It looked like a woman screaming, that's what Robert liked to say. Anna always thought it looked like a Rhino, or one of those cave painting of a buffalo. Steve thought it looked like a moon.

A fond smile found its way to her lips. Steve had always been a… difficult child. Then again, Anna had never been the best mother. If she had been, she would have left Robert years ago. Anna wished she had, but… even after she finally realized the man she married was not the man she fell in love with, she couldn't bring herself to leave. She didn't love him anymore- not since the first time she saw her child's bruises- but staying had been- had felt- it was her only option. The only feasible one.

She could have packed up and ran- she knew that. Anna had a brother in Ohio that would have welcomed her. But Anna was scared- no, terrified - that Robert would find them. Exhausted and beaten down- physically, emotionally- Anna stayed. She stayed for fifteen years until one day, Steve called up the police. Not Anna- no, she wasn't strong enough. It was _Steve_ who saved them.

Robert was sentenced to a year, but his girlfriend bailed him out after two months. By then, Anna had already filed the restraining order. Steve was her hero. He always had been.

Anna jolted alert as the cars began moving again.

It didn't take long for her to get home after that, and as she passed the dimly lit streets of her town, she was reminded of her late night piano rehearsals. Her dad would pick her up, carrying her on his shoulder to the car, though she was much too old to be carried. There was always a book on the dashboard, and Anna would pull out a folded napkin, picking up where she left off. The sky was dark… Anna read by the light of the passing streetlamp. Even though it was quiet, it always felt sacred to her. A time to be with her dad, away from the school and annoying little brothers.

But when the moon was high, she watched her fathers face instead. He always smiled, slowing the car so he could watch it pass under a cloud. One day, Anna asked what he was looking at.

 _"_ _The lady in the moon,"_ he said.

Anna dropped her purse off on the counter, yawning. She wouldn't have even noticed the table, if it weren't for Steve's flour coated hands tapping it on the shoulder.

"Er- sorry." Steve said, attempting to brush off the flour. He only made it worse. "Um. I made you dinner."

Anna rubbed her eyes. "I thought your friend was coming over. You were going to do that apology thing we talked about."

Steve rubbed his hands on his jeans, caking them in white. "Eli couldn't make it." Anna was impressed with what he'd done. Sure, the pasta looked a little lumpy, but he'd folded the extra napkins they'd stashed from the McDonalds drive-thru like they do in the fancy restaurants Anna could never afford. He'd cut up a lime and placed it on a plate like a green smiley face- an inside joke. "So I thought we could eat together, just you and I, like we used to."

"Steve, It's midnight. You have school tomorrow, you shouldn't stay up this late just to wait for me to get home."

Steve ignored her, and pulled out a chair at the head of the table- that was where Robert used to sit, but Anna didn't say it aloud. So Anna sat, and Steve told her about that new show he'd been watching. She laughed when the main characters, Adam and Josh, broke into a building to find a Shifter only to confuse a regular human. Steve's face turned bright red then, like it did when people found out Anna was dating the coach, but he was smiling.

In the reflection of her glass- it was clean, did Devin do the dishes? - Anna saw the moon.

 _"_ _She looks like the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me."_

 _Anna studied the moon. "What was mom like?"_

Before she died. _Anna thought._ Before Afghanistan. Before she left us.

 _Her dad shook his head. "Your mother gave me you, Anna._ You _are the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me."_

 **My honorary aunt had an abusive reason Lina finally got away is because my family babysat, and we saw the dog. It was chained up in the basement, filthy, and starving. I remember, one time, the oldest kid I was babysitting hit the dog with a bat. I told him to stop, and he told me his father did it all the time. We called animal control, and because of that we found out about everyone else.**

 **I don't know if he ever hit her, but I wouldn't be surprised. I** ** _do_** **know that she was scared of him, and that he had broken her down to the point where she felt that she had no worth. He told her that she was lucky to have him, because no one else would take her. At that point, she was so exhausted with night shifts and three children that she believed him. When you hear the same thing so many times, for years, you can't help it.**

 **Abuse is horrible. Domestic violence is horrible. Don't ever do that to a person, and if you're the victim of domestic violence or abuse, please tell someone. You don't have to go through that alone.**


	16. Hear

"…believe me?" The boy asked, arms tucked into his chest.

Feet moved closer, and Angor's eye rolled to the safety of underneath the coach.

"I do." The woman tried to put a reassuring hand on the boy's (her son, presumably) shoulder, but he shrugged it off.

"Why-" His voice cracked. "Why now?" The voice was hopeful, but dejected. Like this was too good to be true.

The eye spun, searching. Angor wasn't interested in these two.

"I saw one, a faery. She's asleep in the guest room right now, actually."

Angor's eye stopped, now that was interesting. It stared at the rubber soles of boys converse, and the woman's striped socks.

"…Eli?" The other went silent, and Angor couldn't see their expressions from the angle "Eli what's wrong? I believe you."

"No you don't."

"Eli-"

"You believe what you saw, you don't believe _me_." The voice was unwavering, a simple statement of fact."

"Why does that even mean? Eli, you're not making any sense here-"

"Exactly!" It was the first time the boy had yelled. "I never make any sense to you. I try to explain to you, I tried so many times, and you don't let me! You never let me! Yo never"

"I believe you _now_ , what else do you want from me?"

"This isn't about that!"

"Tell me what it's about then."

"Dad wasn't cheating, Mom!"

"…"

"Mary was suicidal. Those 'dates'? That was dad trying to get her to eat. The walks in the park? That was because she had left her bed in _days_. All he ever did was try to help a friend, and you _left_. You dragged me into the car and left dad, and you never let me explain."

It was silent as the converse retreated up the stairs.

 **This is super short. I know that, but this is the second post in two days, so cut me some slack.**

 **At first, I was going to make this super happy and fluffy. Obviously, I failed at that. Anyway, I got a couple of comments about how it was sad that Eli was the cause for their divorce. This is kind of a response to that. Mind you, I had this in mind ever since I wrote the second chapter, so Mary isn't anything new.**

 **I didn't add Mary into the second chapter because I am fully aware that many children of divorced parents assume that they are the reason for their parents unhappiness. I should know. I tried to portray that, and I apologize if that confused some people.**

 **Eli is NOT the cause of the divorce, but he did blame himself for some time. Part of this is him recognizing that fact, as well as the fact that his mother is flawed. The realization that your parents aren't perfect is an important part of growing up. As I stated before, miscommunication truly was the cause of their divorce. Albiet, extreme in this situation.**

 **And… now my Author's Note is longer than the actual chapter.**

 **Whatever.**


	17. Listen

Áine was, in fact, _not_ asleep in the guest room. Which is to say, she heard the whole thing.

There's a human idiom, one that Áine was not particularly familiar with, that would fit this situation. Perhaps a 'wallflower' or 'fly on the wall'. Actually, 'fly on the wall' is a better choice, as that is quite literally the form Áine had chosen.

Perched between two picture frames, Áine could distinctly hear both of the humans. One collapsed on the coach with a sigh and a "What now?"

The other human stomped up the stairs. He paused for a fraction of a second outside a door, hesitant. Then the doorknob rattled, a loud slam where the heavy door met the wall.

Áine flew from her perch, hovering near the ground. She took the form of a black cat she had seen pawing on the guest room window.

The taller human- Madeline was her name- gaped at the change, but Áine ignored it. Her tail swished as she bounced up the steps.

She stopped outside the door to the boy's room.

"Meow"

Oh right, cats were incapable of human speech. She turned into a spider and crawled through the crack underneath the door.

The boy wasn't crying, his hands weren't even in fists. Instead, his eyes kept darting around the room, always returning to his bedroom door. He scowled, and spun around so he couldn't see it. It wasn't like anything Áine had expected.

She changed form again, this time to a peasant girl who had once found her way to the Faerie gardens.

She cleared her throat- _Wait, what was his name? Oh well._

"Boy?"

The boy jumped up, spinning around. "Wha-" he narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"

She plopped herself on the bed beside him, legs swinging off the side. "Áine." Ugh. She forgot how high pitched prepubescent voices were. "And you? I can hardly keep calling you 'boy', can I?" Áine could tell from his expression that more questions were coming. "And before you ask, no I am not human, yes magik exists, and I am not here to kill you. Kapeesh?"

The boy rubbed his elbow, eyes darting back to the door. "So, you're the Faery mom was talking about?"

 _Color me impressed,_ Áine thought, _he figured that out himself._ (Though the Faerie Queen had an innate ability to speak and understand all languages, she often confused common slang and idioms)

Áine held out her palm. "Not just any Faery, the Faery queen. At least, I was... long ago. I am the last of my kind."

At that, the boy lunged for his bedside table, scooping up a pad of sticky notes and clicking a pen. "Come again?"

Áine resisted the urge to groan. _So he was one of_ ** _those_** _humans._ "No. I did _not_ come up here to be interrogated. I came because of _that_ ," she spread her arms in a vague gesture she's seen humans use for emphasis, "disaster downstairs."

"Mom sent you, didn't she?" He was staring at the door again.

"No-" His eyes were shifting around the room again, doing that strange thing where they kept returning to the unassuming door. "Okay, seriously. What is so interesting about a _door_?"

"What? I- it's nothing!" His voice cracked. The boy's ears were a vivid pink.

" _Oh._ " As convoluted and foreign as human interactions tended to be, their expressions always gave them away. "You feel guilty, don't you?"

"Yeah." The boy rubbed his elbow. "I just- You know those dramatic arguments you have in you're head? The ones' where you're always confident and you always win?"

Áine nodded, pretending to understand.

"They're never as good in real life. I mean, I always wanted to tell her, I've tried. Dad's tried, but… I still don't…that could have gone a lot better, couldn't it?"

This time, Áine's nods were earnest. "Oh, definitely."

The boy glared at her. "You're real helpful, aren't you?"

 _Ooh, sarcasm._ Áine liked this one.

"I wasn't even relevant though. It was just so random, but-" His hands fisted. "I was so _angry_. And half of me thinks she deserved it, and she _did_ , but… I still feel guilty. And I know that she's the one in the wrong, but-"

"So go talk to her." The boy was surprised to be cut off like that. "Sit down, actually talk. No more arguing. You both need to lay everything out on the table and figure out what to do about do about your dad and this 'creepslaying' thing you do."

The boy smiled softly "Thanks."

"But _actually_ communicate this time. From what I can see, your whole family has _extreme_ communication issues."

"Gee, _thanks_." He glared at her, but hopped off the bed anyway.

As the door shut, Áine collapsed onto the bed. She jumped up, something was poking her back. A strange metal brick was laying there. _A 'phone'_ , Áine declared in her head. She'd seen Madeline handle one in the horseless chariot Madeline had called a 'car'. The technology was strange to Áine. It seemed that quite a bit had changed during her forced stay in the Darklands.

She touched it expirimentally, and the screen lit up. Huh. She swiped to the left, and the screen changed. Humans talked to people with these things, didn't they? From what Áine had seen, they acted much like a wizard's crystal ball.

The screen had opened to a form of written communication. It read 'Steve' on top of the screen, so Áine assumed that was who Madeline's son had been communicating with. She skimmed through the messages to the last one.

 **You're still coming at 6, right Eli?**

"Hmm." Áine mused. "So the boy's name is Eli."

The text had come from an hour before, and Eli hadn't responded. So Eli had somewhere to be in… she checked the clock in the upper right corner of the phone screen… half an hour. That meant Eli didn't have time to speak with his mother. But no, family was more important than whatever Eli had planned. Áine would know, what she wouldn't give for an hour alone with her son…

This simply wouldn't do.

Áine shifted forms again, looking down at herself to make sure she got it right. I was a little uncomfortable. Faeries technically didn't have gender as they didn't have one true form, but rather took the forms of the people and animals they saw. Áine however, had always been more comfortable in female form. It was why she had changed her birthed named from Áillen to Áine millennia ago. But if a few minutes of uncomfortableness helped to fix a broken relationship between mother and son, Áine would do it.

She pressed the phone to her ear, and in Eli's voice she began. "Hey Steve..."


	18. Lies

"Good morning Mary! Good morning Tom! Buenos días Señor Uhl!"

Claire shut her locker door. "Looks like some one's happy." _Unnaturally so,_ Claire thought to herself. Eli had given _Señor Uhl_ a hug, and he was terrified of him. Then again, so was everyone, but that only further proved Claire's point. _He places great value on his mother's opinion… perhaps it could be of use in the future. Then again, he hardly seems a threat._

Claire blinked. Those thoughts didn't sound like her own. That voice, it sounded so _familiar_. It was troubling. She'd have to tell Blinky-

 _Everything is fine, child._

Claire shook her head. What was she thinking about again? Oh right, Eli. "What happened?"

Eli grinned. "My mom-" he lowered his voice, "My mom believed me about the trolls." He whispered.

Claire smiled. "That's great Eli."

"Mmhhm." He nodded. " _And_ , she bought me a doughnut this morning. She usually doesn't let me have sugar because she says I get really hyper and I can't focus, and I- Oh, hey Steve!"

Eli continued his excited chatter as he practically skipped through the halls, but Claire wasn't paying particularly much attention. She pulled out her phone, thumbing through her notifications.

 **Mom,** _yesterday 11:21 pm_

 **Have you listened to the radio recently?**

Claire stared at her phone. What kind of question was that? Parents could be so _weird_ sometimes. Or maybe not. Her mom had been so focused on her camping recently. It was probably some stupid campaign interview. Merlin knows how many she'd been forced to listen to. Claire didn't bother with a response.

 ** _TP tagged you on his story_**

 **Jim** _yesterday, 10:39 pm_

 **Are you alright? You seemed off yesterday**

 **Dad** _two minutes ago_

 **Could you watch Enrique tonight? You're mother's going on a last minute business trip, so I need to fill in for her at the campaign fundraiser tonight**

Claire quickly typed out a response to her dad, making a note to tell Jim she wouldn't be available for training tonight. Honestly, after all Jim went through to get Enrique back, Claire hadn't been able to spend much time with her brother. It was understandable, considering Gunmar's return, but Claire felt somewhat guilty because of it. It would be nice to spend some alone time with her her little brother for a change.

She frowned at Jim's text. Now that she thought about it, she couldn't remember yesterday. It was strange- These blackouts been happening a lot lately. She'd been forgetting where she put things, waking up in odd places. It was almost as though-

 _Everything is fine, child._

Claire pocketed her phone without typing a response. There was an unsettling feeling in her stomach, but she ignored it until she convinced herself it wasn't there.

Everything was fine.


	19. Earl Grey

"I don't like this."

Lauren stirred the liquid tentatively with the end of her gel-pen. Reynolds squeezed the eyedropper, a single drop of an unknown liquid landing into the steaming mug. It was dubiously harmless- Earl Gray with two generous spoonfuls of sugar and a pour of milk… and it was harmless, really. Still, Lauren's stomach didn't sit well. She poured out another spoonful of sugar, as though that would somehow mask their treachery.

"Remember why we're doing this." Reynolds brushed a stray hair out of his face, pouring over an ancient book in a text Lauren couldn't read. He must have done this a hundred, no, a thousand times, yet he still fretted as though one small misstep would endanger the entire operation. "We're done."

Lauren blinked in surprise. "That's it?"

Reynolds snapped the book shut. "Yes."

"Is it supposed to be this easy?"

"If you do it right." Reynolds fumbled with his coat pocket, pulling out a lighter. "Besides, it's easier with two. It's difficult to measure out the correct dosage when you're stirring at precisely one and a quarter counter-clockwise turns per second." He pushed a cigarette between his teeth.

Lauren stared at the drink. "And this will keep them safe." It was a question disguised as a statement, though Lauren wasn't sure who she was asking it to.

"No." Reynolds lit his cigarette. "But it's the best we can do." He blew out a puff of smoke. Normally Lauren would be worried about secondhand smoke, but she was a tad more concerned with drugging their patients' tea. "Anyone person with knowledge of Trolls becomes a threat to Bular. Or rather, that knowledge gives the brute an excuse to eat them. Erasing that memory erases the threat. No one is eaten. Everyone's happy."

He adjusted his bowtie in the mirror on the door. (Reynolds said it was for helping clientele become comfortable with their images, but Lauren thought he just liked checking himself out. He was a psychiatrist, not a psychologist.) He smiled. It wasn't wide, like the reassuring smile he gave his clients, but hesitant like he was trying to reassure himself. "Ignorance is bliss."

Lauren picked up her clipboard. "Ignorance is bliss."

She pushed open the door to his office, leaving smudges on his full-length mirror. She felt taller, despite leaving her heels at home. The little clinic had opened half an hour ago, but the first client wasn't scheduled until 10:30. Usually Lauren spent this time scrolling through google to find information on raccoons that Rachel might be able to use, or watching Netflix when Reynolds wasn't looking. Today, something was different. Maybe it was due to the unnatural yellow hue in her bosses eyes, or the extra shot of expresso in her system, but Lauren felt like something was there that hadn't been there before.

Destiny is a gift. That's what Rachel had told her the night they met. She'd scratched it into the the bus-stop bench, waiting in the pouring rain for a person who wouldn't come. Lauren lent her the pocket knife she'd pick pocketed from a park ranger in Montana. She couldn't help but hope someone would find inspiration from those words someday. Lauren would never forget the dimpled smile that somehow made the bags under Rachel's eyes pretty.

Lauren had never believed in destiny. The world was too messy for any master plan. Still, she couldn't deny that something was different.

Lauren uncapped her gel-pen and decided to actually do the paperwork for once.

 **Gah! So sorry for not updating. My spring break ended, and my free time got chopped into a million pieces. Anyway, hope you like it!**


	20. Drama

Eli was much more observant than he led people to believe. After all, he'd found out the existence of Trolls long before Jim had. Most people just assumed he spent his time on math or something. Truth was, he was absolutely horrible at math. Not that he was likely to tell anyone anytime soon. It was a truth he'd managed to keep secret from all but his parents (and Mrs. Janeth, of course). After all, drama was his favorite subject.

Steve had been trying to apologize in a series of hilariously awkward and somewhat extravagant ways all week. Somehow or other, he was interrupted every time. Eli knew he should probably stop pretending to be so oblivious, but he couldn't help it. Steve was _so_ goddamn adorable, and Eli was very, very Gay.

Of course, Eli forgave him weeks ago, but he still wanted to hear an apology.

"I'm sorry," Steve panted, crashing into Eli's locker. A toy UFO fell off the top shelf and hit him on the head. He was red all over and out of breath and his armpits were a darker shade of blue than the rest of his shirt. (Which was kind of gross, but Eli thought it would be rude to say). "I was a real buttsnack,"

Eli crossed his arms in front of his chest, motioning for Steve to continue.

"I shoved you into lockers and laughed at you and stuff cause I thought you were lame. But you're not lame. You're really freaking cool. So yeah, I'm sorry. I was a jerk and you didn't deserve that. Can you forgive me?"

"I'll forgive you" Eli shut his locker door, and leaned in close to Steve's ear so that his breath was hot on the other boy's face, "when you drop the cover," he whispered.

Eli swung his backpack over his shoulder, grinning smugly at the shock directed at his back. His class was actually in the other direction, but it would ruin the dramatics. He'd apologize to Mrs. Janeth later.


End file.
